I was saddened to hear that the only testimonies given at Young
oppa's funeral were by people who never took the time to get to know
him, i.e. Kim Hyo Nam, Mrs. Lee, and Peter Kim. I want to give you a
taste of what my brother was all about. And I never want him to be
forgotten...

My brother was someone not many knew. I, however, was lucky enough
to spend a significant amount of time with him. He and I attended
Groton School, a prep school in Massachusetts, for three years
together. He was charismatic and loved by all the faculty. He was
especially known for being a hard worker, who ceaselessly worked to
attain all his goals. He was quiet and soft-spoken, but when he
opened his mouth, only intelligent and bold opinions emerged from his
lips. He excelled during his years at Groton, which, I believe, were
probably the happiest and most successful five years of his life.

His room was always tidy; he was somewhat anal retentive. His
books were treated like jewels. He would never throw down his
book-bag on the floor after returning from a strenuous day of school;
he would bend down and neatly place the bag standing straight up on
the floor. He would open his books only wide enough to read them so
as not to crease the edge. I could never tell which books he had
read, because they were always in pristine condition.

He loved to read Dungeons and Dragons books, and I still have yet
to meet someone who knows more nitty gritty facts about that fantasy
world than he.

The minute he returned home from school everyday, he would walk to
the cupboard, take a new bag of Doritos, and walk to his room to
start his homework. He would be in there for hours with the door
closed. It was always so quiet in there that I often thought he was
sleeping. But when I would sneak a glance into his room, he was hard
at work. He would only emerge from his room to go to the bathroom,
and he allotted himself fifteen minutes to eat dinner. Other than
that, the only other indication that he was out and about was the
empty Dorito bag that was always neatly placed outside his door at
the end of the day. He loved Doritos.

He always tried to make me a better person. He read the DP
regularly, and honestly tried his best to live a selfless life. He
was a simple person.

He never had a thing for material possessions. Whatever money he
ever had was always spent on someone else, many times on me. He was
always ready to listen to my dilemmas and ready to give me advice. He
never asked for anything in return. I knew deep down in my heart that
his interest in my petty life was genuine. I knew he loved me and
cared for me.

He loved to play lacrosse, and he was determined to make the
varsity team. I cannot remember a single day when he was not with
lacrosse stick in hand. He would be outside for hours practicing his
technique, slowly but surely becoming a master of the sport. That was
his way. He did things to achieve perfection. There was this one
brick on the chimney that he chose as his target, and he spent hours
perfecting his aim. Soon enough he was hitting the brick with the
ball from quite a distance. During his junior year, he made the
varsity lacrosse team, a well-earned honor. But his friend and
roommate, who had also tried out, failed to make the team. Thus, he
resolved to give up his slot, and played JV for his junior year to
keep his friend company. I don't think his roommate ever knew of his
decision. But during his senior year, he again made the team, this
time with his friend. He soon became the top scorer, and one of the
most valuable players.

Not only was he amazing in lacrosse, he was also phenomenal in
squash. He would spend many hours on end, perfecting his boast and
his drop shot. He knew how much I loved the sport and so he often
took time in his day to help me with my developing skills. He would
always tell me that I had it in me to someday be on the varsity team,
and I would just snicker at him. He believed in my abilities. He
would coach me after practice and during vacations, which I am sure
held him back in perfecting his own skills. I was no way near his
level of squash playing yet. Nevertheless, he genuinely wanted me to
succeed. He, of course, made the varsity squash team. What I am sure
he did not know was that I made the varsity squash team the year
after he graduated. And I was elected captain of that team for my
senior year. I don't think I ever really got to thank him.

During his years at Groton, he actively participated in community
service at a local children's community school. He loved children,
and they, in turn, loved him. He would always tell me of his mini
adventures and experiences with the children there. He helped out in
the classrooms and chaperoned during recess. Many times, the children
would cry when it came time for him to leave. The children loved him
so much that the head of the community school wrote a letter of high
praise to Groton about how great Phillip was. A couple years later,
this very same woman would write a letter of recommendation for his
college applications. He was adored in this small community, and he
made a tremendous difference. He, however, was never one to brag of
his accomplishments. I found this out through a faculty member.

He was loved at Groton, his home away from home. Years after he
graduated, his teachers and friends would still inquire about Phillip
whenever they bumped into me in the hall. I would always answer that
he was doing great at Columbia University. The Groton community
always had high hopes for Phillip; they all knew that he was
brilliant, and that he was going somewhere in this world. I knew that
too. He had the drive, energy, and motivation to be a great mover and
shaker. He always had promise.

After he graduated from Groton, we lost touch with each other, for
he was all the way down in New York City. I did not speak to him for
nearly two years until I too was to attend college in New York. Time
had elapsed and those two years had taken a toll on his life. He had
unveiled the past of his then wife, Hwa Jung, the heartless beast who
single-handedly ruined him. After they had been together for a year,
and after she assumed she could not possibly be kicked out of the
family because she was pregnant with his child, she confessed to him
that she was not as pure as he had thought she was. She had had a
sexual relationship with another man in Korea prior to my brother,
and she still called that Korean bastard from time to time. Hwa Jung,
Satan, had this guy in Korea wait for her, in case her marriage with
Young oppa did not work out.

Young oppa was crushed. He had saved himself his whole life just
to be married to a woman who was used goods. She was unpure, and she
had tainted him. This Satan and her family had lied to everyone in
order to become a part of the True Family. I still can't believe that
she had the gall to walk down that isle in front of God. How could
one do this with a straight face? Doesn't she have a conscience? That
heartless Satan deserves to live the rest of her pathetic life in
shame.

Young oppa had loved her. In his mind, his marriage was supposed
to be perfect. He was always such a helpless romantic; he was so
idealistic and optimistic. And this Satan had the gall to crush and
destroy everything he had lived for. He brought her breakfast in bed
every morning. He gave up his favorite cat Amber, which he had
personally rescued from the streets of Uruguay, because she didn't
like animals. She was cruel to him, but he loved her unconditionally.
And all along, she was playing the role of her lifetime: a pure
Korean wife straight from Korea, the pure country. What a
social-climbing Satan.

The next time I caught up with Young oppa was after this whole
fiasco had exploded. The Satan was shipped off to Korea. It was my
summer vacation before I would start school in the fall. When I first
saw him that summer, his countenance had changed. There was a sadness
about him that was so unlike him. He greeted me with a warm hello,
and once again I felt that closeness that I had missed for two years.

That summer, I did my best to try and cheer him up. I realized how
lonely he was. Because his brothers were too macho to sympathize and
care for him, he kept to himself for those two years. I went out of
my way to spend time with him. I desperately wanted to cheer him up.
I found out that he had done many things in those two years to fill
his days. He had driven cross-country three times in that two-year
span. He had acquired his scuba-diving license, and he had been
sky-diving. He had seen almost all the Broadway musicals and operas
in New York City. He had been doing all these activities alone.

That summer, he enrolled me in YMCA because he needed a squash
partner. He was still amazing even after two years. And he kicked my
butt in every match we played. He would get a kick out of seeing me
run all around the court trying to return the ball, while he stood
calmly at the T. One day, however, we were playing a match, and I
actually got two points off him. I pranced around for a bit until he
started snickering. I had failed to realize that he had switched to
his left hand and had been kicking my butt left-handed. He always had
such a sense of humor. That summer he took me and my sisters out to
movies, restaurants, and plays. He was never stingy about anything.
He constantly found excuses to buy us things. He bought me tickets to
go see Miss Saigon, saying that it was my late birthday/graduation
gift; my birthday was in February. He loved fine cuisine, and loved
treating us all out to dinner. And yet, he never asked for anything
in return. If we needed anything, he would get it for us. If we
needed help or advice, he would be there.

We talked a lot that summer. He was always ready to dish out
advice, and I learned quite a bit from him. He was so genuinely kind
and loving; there were never any strings attached. Even after almost
a year's separation with that slut, he still never put her down in
front of me. He was not like that.

He never had anything bad to say about anyone, even about this
evil woman who had stolen the one thing that he had been saving for
19 years. I know that he was filled with a lot of pain and anguish,
but he never spoke of it, because he did not want me to be
disillusioned or disheartened.

When he left for Vegas, he told me that his only regret would be
that he would not be able to be there for me. He told me that he
loved me, and that he would miss me. I asked him to take me with him,
but he said that I needed to stay home and be successful. He always
believed in me. We talked on the phone for a while after he left, but
then his phone calls all of a sudden stopped coming. I was saddened
because I thought that I had maybe done something wrong or offended
him. Only later was I to find out that he did not want to talk to me,
because he knew I would fly out there in a heartbeat if I thought
that he was lonely or needed some help. He did not want me to go out
to Vegas to be with him, because he knew that I would be giving up my
college education and a chance at my future. He never thought of
himself.

I wish the world could have known what a difference he made in my
life as well as others. I want everyone to know what a great brother,
friend, and mentor he was to me. He was always calm, composed, and
extremely logical. He lived for the sake of others, and was truly
selfless. He was kind and generous. I love him dearly, and he will
always be my favorite brother.

Please feel free to email me your responses. Please forward this
email to anyone you think would benefit from this letter.